


We Know Where We're Going (But Not Where We've Been)

by TheDarknessFactor



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Post-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Season Two Finale, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Project Romanoff Mini Bang 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4134075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarknessFactor/pseuds/TheDarknessFactor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Anyway,” Sharon continued.  “It’s a complicated story and I’ll tell you more when we meet face-to-face, but May might be in trouble.”</p>
<p>No one who didn’t know Natasha well would have seen the slight falter in her step.  It was barely more than a hiccup, a moment where her boot didn’t come down fast enough.  She continued walking after that, keeping her face blank, but she wasn’t able to stop the hold on her phone from tightening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Know Where We're Going (But Not Where We've Been)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the first Project Romanoff Mini Bang. It got really long, unsurprisingly. Oops. 
> 
> This could be read as pre-femslash (Natasha/Sharon) if you squint, but it's mostly gen. It's set after the season two finale for Melinda, and after AOU for Natasha. So... they're all dealing with some things.
> 
> My partner for the Mini Bang did some AMAZING artwork - you can find it [here](http://projectromanoff.tumblr.com/post/121683615241/we-know-where-were-going-but-not-where-weve)!
> 
> Enjoy!

“I need your help with something.”

Natasha straightened up, pressing the phone just that much harder to her ear.  A car zoomed past and almost splashed muddy water on her boots; she jumped back in time, scowling after the offending vehicle.  “If I say yes, will you go on a date with Steve?”

“You could literally ask me for _anything_ else in return,” Sharon complained, “And you came up with that?”

Natasha smirked, even though Sharon couldn’t see it. 

“We should hire you out,” Sharon continued.  “Natasha Romanoff: personal dating website.  Imagine the profits.  Oh wait, there won’t be any because you suck at matchmaking.”

“Oof.  My injured feelings.  Guess you’re not getting any help.”

“I was joking, come on.”  Natasha could practically feel Sharon’s eye roll.  “Look, Coulson called me for a favor a few days ago.  He wanted me to keep an eye on a situation.  Turns out, the ‘situation’ is more like a catastrophe waiting to happen.  I’m not 100 percent confident in my ability to handle it on my own, and a little birdy told me that you’re doing business outside of Avenging— if it suits your purposes.”

“Which little birdy?” Natasha asked.  “Bird of prey number one or bird of prey number two?”

“Neither,” admitted Sharon.  “Maria did.  The bird thing was unintentional, by the way.”

“So I see.”  Natasha switched hands, moving her umbrella to her right hand and her phone to the left, ignoring the rain sloshing on the sidewalk.  The little town near the Avengers facility wasn’t all that busy on such a rainy day, but it was busy enough that she got curious looks from the locals who frequented the café.  She liked coming here on her days off, and getting to know some of the people who lived here.  Her habit of forming connections never really stopped being a habit, even when those connections weren’t fellow spies or arms dealers.

She’d been in the grocery store, talking to Kara (one of the cashiers) when Sharon called her up. 

“Anyway,” Sharon continued.  “It’s a complicated story and I’ll tell you more when we meet face-to-face, but May might be in trouble.”

No one who didn’t know Natasha well would have seen the slight falter in her step.  It was barely more than a hiccup, a moment where her boot didn’t come down fast enough.  She continued walking after that, keeping her face blank, but she wasn’t able to stop the hold on her phone from tightening.  She was going to have make some long-term preparations for this trip: notifying Steve that she needed a week off, letting everyone else on the team know that she’d be gone for a little while, and possibly trying to get in touch with Stark to see if he would be able to find any information on the subject.

Was it worth getting in contact with Fury?  He would probably know May’s status.

“I can hear you thinking,” Sharon said.  “May’s fine for now; I’ve checked up on her.  I’ll be swinging by the Avengers facility tomorrow with a car.  Think you can be ready by then?”

“Think you can get here sooner?” Natasha asked.  “Three hours?”

“I’m glad you asked.”

* * *

 

If it were anyone besides Steve, Natasha would’ve brushed him off a while ago.  She was walking quickly enough that most people staffing the Avengers facility wouldn’t have bothered trying to keep up with her.  For Steve, however, it took little to no effort to keep pace (he still kicked Sam’s ass when they went running together).  Wanda was trailing behind the two of them, a curious look on her face.  She had a tendency to find Natasha whenever something was bothering her, but for once Natasha wasn’t going to indulge the young woman and tell her what was going on.

“Sam can hold his own pretty well in a command position,” Steve said quietly.  “But you being gone this long?  With little to no warning?  I don’t like it.”

“You’ll live,” Natasha replied.  “If you really need someone to infiltrate, ask Wanda.  At best, she’s decent at stealth.  At worst, her powers will fool pretty much anyone.  As for leadership, you’re right— Sam does just fine, and Rhodey can hold his own as well.  Plus you always led the old team on your own without any fuss.  Hell, you managed to wrangle Stark.  I don’t see what the issue is here, Cap.”

Steve sighed.  “The issue is that you haven’t told me who’s picking you up.”

“Oh, that?”  Natasha rolled her eyes at him, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Wanda had given up on following them a while ago.  “Why didn’t you just ask?  It’s Sharon.”

The doors to the facility opened, prompting Natasha to heft her bag on her shoulder.  The world was painted in gold and black, remnants from the earlier storm; there were still dark clouds overhead, but light was streaming in from the west.  Natasha thought it was appropriate to start such a trip on this sort of a day; she inhaled, welcoming the leftover smell of rain.  Steve was still looking at her, though his attention was quickly diverted to the dark blue Audi that waited for them.  The door opened to a familiar blond silhouette, who appraised the two of them without waving or doing anything else.

“I didn’t know you and Sharon are close.”

“We’re not… exactly,” Natasha answered haltingly.  “And wait, are you guys on a first-name basis?  Did you call her?  Please tell me you called her.”

That seemed to be Steve’s cue to give the most exaggerated eye-roll of his entire life.  Natasha smirked at him (ribbing him about Sharon was too fun). 

On her other side, Wanda appeared as if from nowhere.  She looked over at Sharon with a frown, eyes flashing red momentarily.  Natasha reached out without really thinking about it, grasping Wanda’s wrist and causing the glow to recede from her eyes.  Wanda didn’t look angry at this action; instead, she relaxed.  Natasha gave her an admonishing look.

“You know better,” she said.

“Sorry,” Wanda muttered.  “Be careful.”

“Always am.”

“Liar,” Steve coughed. 

“Shut the hell up,” Natasha said, punching his arm.  “I’ll be back in two weeks.  Try to stay out of trouble.  And keep the others out of trouble.”

“Yes,” Wanda replied.  “I am sure that will happen.”

Natasha mock-saluted, giving Wanda one last significant look before she started down the driveway towards Sharon.  She had been sure to go over some stealth tips with Wanda before she left; it usually paid off to have a player who could infiltrate targeted buildings while the rest of the Avengers raised hell.  Wanda was an excellent student, too.  She always paid attention and she took Natasha’s lessons to heart.  If she had started to become a little attached to her teacher, well… Natasha would deal with that later.

“Got all your emotional goodbyes in?” Sharon asked.

Natasha got in on the passenger side.  “Of course.  Tears were shed.  I could barely stand to leave.”

“Y’know, that sentence wasn’t entirely deadpan.”

“Just drive.”

And drive they did, until the clouds from the storm were gone and the sun had long since set.  Natasha opened her window and laid her head on the sill, feeling the breeze rush past her.  Sharon didn’t begin to explain what was going on with Melinda until two hours in, when they were on a state highway cruising through Virginia.  The time on the clock was 11:06. 

Natasha started when Sharon began to speak.

“You know anything about what May’s been up to?”

“Some,” Natasha replied.  “I know she’s been working with Coulson and the new S.H.I.E.L.D.  They’ve been dealing with a Splinter Cell of S.H.I.E.L.D. that Gonzales was heading up, in addition to a colony of powered people living somewhere near Tibet.  I heard that that fight didn’t go too well.  Also heard that Morse got pretty beat up, but that was an unrelated incident.”

“Like I said, I spoke with Coulson,” Sharon explained.  “He confirmed pretty much everything you’ve just said.  He was responsible for the Helicarrier during the Ultron fiasco as well.  But the thing with May and what happened to Morse are related.  How much do you know about Grant Ward?”

Ah.  That name did nothing but make Natasha’s hackles rise, but she kept herself calm.  She’d only met the guy once, to take him down a peg or two when he was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s rising stars.  Neither of them had particularly liked one another since then.  “Hydra?”

“Hydra.”

“Not surprising.”  Natasha ran through what she knew: good fighter, efficient agent, pretty good service record right up until the day Hydra lifted off its cloak of deception.  Skilled at interrogation techniques.  Arrogant, but (unfortunately) with the skills to back it up.  Probably had some sincere loyalty to Hydra if he’d managed to be a problem for S.H.I.E.L.D. this long.  He wouldn’t be easy to fight or easy to find, but Natasha had never had things easy, and she was still alive. 

“You think he’s targeting May,” she surmised.

“May tricked him into killing his girlfriend.”

Natasha whistled.

“Then yeah, a guy like that would probably have some kind of vendetta.  It’s never their fault, only someone else’s.”

Sharon sent her a peculiar look.  “That’s almost exactly what Coulson said.”

Natasha lifted the corner of her mouth.  “Reading people is part of the job, Sharon.  Here’s what I don’t get: if Coulson thinks that Ward might be after May, why not just keep a closer eye on her at the base?”

“She requested leave.”

Now _that_ was something that Natasha didn’t expect to hear.  Her last phone call to Melinda had been a few months ago, before everything with Ultron happened, so she didn’t exactly know what was going on with her right now, but Melinda had never been the type to take a day off— especially not when her team was still recovering from some kind of massive battle.  Still, anything could happen.  A brilliant inventor could create a genocidal A.I.  A pair of twins could acquire super speed and reality-warping abilities.  An assassin could develop feelings for a scientist who turned into a giant green rage monster. 

Before she let that train of thought go any further, Natasha asked, “Where is she now?”

“Apparently?  Vacationing somewhere in Florida.  She went off the grid somewhere in D.C., though, so we’re paying a visit to her ex before we start looking.  It would make things easier if he knew how to get in contact with her.”

Natasha hummed.  “And does Coulson know that I’m tagging along on this trip?”

“No.  Although Maria might inform him of that, if you’ve told her.”

Natasha hadn’t, but she was willing to bet that Steve would be letting her know. 

The two of them continued to chat about what sort of move Ward might make, if he made a move at all.  Ward didn’t strike Natasha as impatient, but grief and revenge motivated people in strange ways.  He would be unbalanced and less willing to avoid stupid mistakes, which they could use their advantage.  Natasha mentally compiled a list of weaknesses— of places where she could stick a verbal knife in and twist.  She could make it hurt.  After she learned what, exactly, he’d done to Bobbi Morse, she almost _wanted_ to. 

This was something Natasha could work with.  It had been a long time— ages— since she had felt this kind of drive on a mission.  It wasn’t anger, exactly.  Anger was something she could work with as well, but that was something that she felt had been burnt out of her somewhere between S.H.I.E.L.D. falling and Ultron happening.  Nowadays, lethargy was her companion more than anything else.  But this… this was good.  It felt like her blood was flowing again.  Maybe it was just having someone to protect.  Maybe she actually missed spy work.  For once, Natasha was okay with not knowing the answer.

Sharon kept driving, stopping periodically only for coffee to keep herself awake.  Natasha observed her friend when their conversation about Ward and May died down, noting the dark circles under her eyes and the way her hand just barely trembled.  Insomnia seemed the most likely culprit, although Natasha didn’t know why.  Sharon had told her that she was working under the radar for Fury, just as an intelligence gatherer and occasional liaison between Fury and Coulson, and now (apparently) the Avengers as well.  She didn’t once complain about her work, but it must’ve been taking some kind of toll on her if she looked this out of it.  The waxy skin didn’t help the impression.

Natasha wondered if anyone else was doing the same job for Fury.  She quickly came to the conclusion that, even if anyone was, they probably weren’t working half as hard as Sharon was.  Sharon Carter had always been three things: a hard worker, an outspoken questioner of everything she disagreed with, and someone who refused to do anything less than get the job done. 

They arrived at Andrew Garner’s townhouse without incident.  The windows were dark; just in case, Natasha circled the perimeter for anything alarming before she signaled to Sharon that the place was clear, and they both approached the front door.  It only took a few sharp knocks from Sharon before a middle-aged man appeared in the doorway, looking unsurprised to see the two young woman in the doorway.

“Good morning,” he said. 

“Hi, Dr. Garner,” Sharon said.  “Sorry to bother you at this time.  We have a couple of questions about your ex-wife.”

Garner looked suspicious (Natasha would’ve thought he was an idiot if he didn’t), but he invited the two of them in without a word.  He waved them towards the kitchen, nodding at the coffee maker that sat on the kitchen counter.

“Would you like some?” he offered, a little stiffly.

Sharon opened her mouth, probably to accept, but Natasha cut her off.  “We’re good, thanks.”

He shrugged.  He didn’t make any for himself, either.  “What do you want to ask about Melinda?”

Sharon, who had helped herself onto a stool, suddenly looked like she was about to fall over, so Natasha started things off.  “We’re concerned— and Director Coulson is, as well— that she might be the target of an attack.  We were hoping that you could tell us where she is so that we can forewarn her.  Or, if not, that you could get into contact with her so that we can warn her in some way, shape or form.”

“She’s in Florida.”  At Natasha’s dubious look, he smiled.  “Yes, she really did go to Florida.  Wanted some sun.  And I think she said something about Disney World.”

Natasha wasn’t quite able to suppress an amused snort. 

Garner’s expression became more serious.  “You mind telling me what sort of an attack?”

“One that’s revenge motivated,” Natasha offered.  “In fact, it’s probably for the best if you go somewhere safe as well.  Based on what happened to the guy involved, he might seek to hurt her through her attachment to you instead of hurting her physically.  Although, I don’t think that’ll happen this time.  He seems to have become something of a sadist, lately.  He enjoys physical pain and only resorts to emotional pain when physical pain isn’t enough for him to get what he wants.”

_It’s ineffective,_ Natasha almost said, but she shut down that train of thought even more quickly than the last one.

“I have somewhere that I can stay, in the meantime,” Garner admitted, like it was no big deal that she’d just informed him that his life might be in danger.  “Melinda didn’t tell me exactly where she might be going, so you’ll have to figure that one out on your own.  She didn’t leave me any contact info either.  Said she would call me if she ran into any serious trouble.”

Natasha nodded her thanks.  “We’ll get out of your hair, then.”

Sharon had enough coherency to follow her out of the townhouse, but Natasha still pried the car keys away from her and forced her into the backseat. 

“Sleep,” she ordered. 

Sharon grumbled, but didn’t argue.

As Natasha started the car, she thought about Garner.  It was a shame, really, that he and Melinda had divorced; he was a good guy.  Patient, calm.  He must have recognized who she was (everyone knew who the Black Widow was now), but he never once commented on it.  He was also polite enough to not say anything about Sharon’s obvious exhaustion. 

Yeah.  He was a good guy.  Natasha wished she could afford him more concrete safety while they searched for May, but she also knew that having him stay at the Avengers facility would raise too many questions.  The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. were mostly kept apart from one another because of how public the Avengers had become (and of how not-public the new S.H.I.E.L.D. was striving to be); bringing Garner in would tie the two worlds together in a way that might cause some people to butt heads.  Namely, Coulson and Steve.

Natasha turned onto an interstate that would help her on her way to Florida.  It was practically deserted.  The only sounds were the purr of the engine, Sharon’s quiet breathing, and jazz music that came through the radio. 

She wished it was enough.

* * *

 

Florida, as it turned out, was a dead end.

Natasha and Sharon spent three days combing the coast; Natasha had even gone as far as to ask Tony to comb through footage looking for Melinda’s face to no avail.  Natasha had always suspected that Melinda would never stay in Florida for long (if she was ever there at all), but she didn’t rule out neighboring states with similar weather.  Stark messaged her about his progress every half-hour (“Might have a match in Houston”, “Nvmd, not actually a match”, “I think you just wanted to get away from Cap”, “Does she own a red bathing suit?”)

That last one caught their attention.

“That’s her,” Sharon said, appraising the blurred photo.  Natasha nodded in agreement.

It was a picturesque scene— Melinda walking in the shallows of a Louisiana beach, a small but content smile on her face as she splashed her feet in the water.  One hand clutched a few shells; the other was balled into a fist.  Natasha felt a slight tightening in her chest at the sight.  They never really got to relax, even when they were on a beach in the tropics somewhere.

_Running away was never really feasible for—_

“She looks happy,” Sharon commented.

Natasha looked at the photo again and revised her analysis.  Melinda might not have been completely relaxed, but… yes, she was genuinely happy. 

Natasha was glad.

The drive to New Orleans took another day, this time with Natasha insisting that she drive (Sharon had taken the drive to Florida).  A road trip wasn’t really what Natasha had had in mind when she was thinking about this mission, but she did spend ten minutes or so outside whenever they stopped, enjoying the heat.  It wasn’t like she didn’t often encounter warm weather— missions took her all over the world— but she almost never had the chance to bask in it. 

There were other, more recent pictures of Melinda that Stark sent them (“Seriously, this is kind of creepy that you guys are having me do this”), which featured her either on the beach or touring New Orleans, usually strolling around the city in the early evenings.  Sharon alternated between checking for updates from him and sleeping, seemingly more open to the idea now that Natasha was insisting on it.  She still drank more coffee than Natasha would like, but her improvements were acceptable.

“You ever gonna talk about what’s going on?” Natasha asked. 

To her credit, Sharon didn’t even bother to play dumb.  She leaned back on the headrest, hitting it a little harder than she’d probably meant to.  The blond woman laughed a little bit.  Natasha noted that her hand was shaking again.  The last time she’d seen Sharon in person had been just after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell; in spite of everything that had happened, there had been none of the nervous habits that she now seemed to possess.

If Natasha had to guess?  Here was a woman who had always known what to do with herself.  First she’d joined S.H.I.E.L.D., doubtlessly inspired by her great-aunt and hoping to do the right thing.  She’d quickly proven her brilliance.  After the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. she had joined the C.I.A., hoping to help others who fell with S.H.I.E.L.D. from inside the bureaucracy.  Her views probably became more jaded when she discovered that that didn’t quite work the way it she’d hoped.  Now she worked for Fury, and going solo was…

Natasha had always preferred working solo, until recently.  Having nowhere to else to be was her specialty.  Maybe that lifestyle didn’t suit everyone.

“I know,” Sharon said.  “You specialize in reading people.  Spare me for five minutes.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow.  Sharon sighed. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.  “That was uncalled for.  I know… you once told me that it isn’t something you can turn off.  It’s been a while, but I doubt that’s changed.”

“A lot has changed,” Natasha countered.  She smiled a bit.  “But you’re right, that hasn’t.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”  Sharon paused.  “I always think that it sounds stupid, when I explain it to people.  My therapist keeps telling me that it’s not, that experiences are all relative, but it’s still hard to believe.  Anyway, the thing is that… yes, Fury’s had me working mostly solo missions.  Gathering intel that he can use to help Coulson, the Avengers, whatever.  There are others, but his options are limited.  He’d probably take you for this job, Natasha, if you were open to it.”

“Maybe if the two of us worked together,” Natasha said.

That wasn’t something that she admitted lightly, ever.  Sharon sent her a look that said that she understood that, and appreciated it. 

“It wouldn’t work that way,” Sharon explained.  There was something pained on her face.

“Yeah.”

Natasha kept her eyes on the road.  She let the moment pass.  Let Sharon decide when to continue.

“I went to Morocco for a mission,” Sharon said.  “Deep cover.  Three months.  I needed to earn the trust of a local underground network, but it took ages to find them.  No contact with anyone.  No… reminders that there were still people out there.  Most days, it was easy to distract myself.  I had work to do.  I got captured in the middle of the second month.  They weren’t Hydra, so there wasn’t any brainwashing voodoo, but it was a local cell that fancied themselves vigilantes and they were wary of the American woman.”

“Did they torture you?”

“No.”  Sharon closed her eyes.  “They were fair.  Kept me fed.  Asked me questions.  They got attacked by Hydra a few weeks later.  I watched every single one of them get shot execution-style.  Got out of there by the skin of my teeth, but I wasn’t able to save anyone else.”

Grimly, Natasha said, “You do what you can to survive.”

“It never feels that easy.”

“It never will.”  Sharon paused.  “I was grateful to be captured, Nat.  I mean, once I figured out that they weren’t going to hurt me, it… I had people to talk to.  Reminders.  I didn’t expect the loneliness to get to me, and like I said, it sounds stupid… and then they all died, just like that.  And I wondered if it was my fault, somehow.”

Natasha could talk about burning down a hospital to kill one man, or having to kill the entire family of another target, or the incident that ended with Clint bringing her into S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place, but none of those things are going to do anything to appease Sharon’s guilt, or the isolation that haunts her.  That’s something she needs to learn to carry herself.  Natasha will help her if she needs it, but she suspects that Sharon will figure it out somehow.

“At any rate,” she said, “not sleeping won’t help you.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to figure that out,” Sharon answered, smirking.  “Thanks for that, by the way.  I didn’t know it was possible to dream without having nightmares until I tried.”

(That night, Sharon had a nightmare.  There was no explosive wakeup, with her screaming about nothing— just a moment where she blinked awake, got up from the bed in the motel room and got herself a glass of water.  Natasha, who hadn’t been sleeping anyway, didn’t respond when Sharon sat on her bed next to her, bumping her shoulder with her own.  “Maybe you ought to take your own advice.”)

* * *

 

They arrived in New Orleans and (almost literally) crashed into Melinda May.

“Fuck!” hissed Natasha, slamming on the brakes.  Sharon hopped out of the car; Natasha rolled her eyes and drove around the block to find somewhere to park.  When she came back, twirling the car keys around her fingers and lamenting that she forgot to bring sunscreen, it was to find Melinda with her arms crossed, looking unimpressed while Sharon tried to explain what was going on.

“Whatever Sharon’s told you, it’s a lie,” she said, cutting her friend off.  “We’re just crashing your vacation.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that Ward’s after me,” Melinda answered.  She smiled like a shark.  “Actually, I can’t wait.”

“Hi, May,” Natasha deadpanned.  “It’s nice to see you too, after two years.  Why yes, Sharon and I have been enjoying our road trip, thank you for asking.”

“Don’t pull that with me, Romanoff,” Melinda warned, but her lips twitched a bit.  “Everyone else may think that Barton is the real pain of Strike Team Delta, but I know the truth.  Aside from that, what are you doing here?  Carter, I can’t say I’m surprised to see you; when I heard you quit the C.I.A., I thought it might be something like this.  But you, Romanoff?  Being an Avenger isn’t keeping you busy the way it used to?”

“Luke, you do not yet realize your importance,” Natasha quoted.

Melinda rolled her eyes.  She was holding a small tote bag at her side; Natasha suspected she had one firearm inside, carefully positioned to point at the ground.  The three of them started walking down the boulevard; the heat from the cobblestones rose up through her flip-flops, but it wasn’t enough to make Natasha uncomfortable.  Sharon and Melinda went over everything that they knew about Ward and what he might do, while Natasha trailed a few steps behind.  She liked New Orleans; she’d have to come back for the Mardi-Gras celebration one of these days.  Maybe she could convince Wanda to tag along.  Or maybe it would be a team outing— they didn’t have enough of those.

Natasha sent a quick text to Tony, informing him that he could stop hunting for photos of Melinda, and then appraised the woman herself.  She looked even better than the grainy pictures had suggested.  Next to Sharon, she almost had this glow about her— like she was meant to be touring the southern coast and basking in the sun.  She was still fit, probably kept herself in fighting form (it was Melinda; the only way she wouldn’t stay in shape was if she was an imposter).  She wasn’t completely relaxed, but she was smiling more freely as she spoke with Sharon, even laughing once or twice.  Natasha couldn’t quite stop the small smile that appeared on her face.

She’d tried to do the whole vacation thing, after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell.  She quickly discovered that she was a little too restless for that.  Natasha went from relaxing in Australia to attempting to reorganize what was left of her underground network in Europe.  That had proved to be hard— harder than her mercenary days— but it was reassuring to have some assets that she could rely on if she ever needed to disappear. 

Melinda and Sharon looked back at her once they were finished with their conversation.  “Nat, we’re going to head somewhere private to talk strategy,” Melinda said.  Sharon looked startled at the use of the nickname; Melinda ignored her.  “Any ideas?”

“Sadly, I’ve never had the opportunity to grace New Orleans with my presence,” Natasha admitted.  “I’ll let you take the lead on this one.”

“Alright.  We’ll head for a bar a few blocks away.”  Melinda waited until Natasha fell in step next to them.  “Did you know that Ward once called you eye candy?”

By way of answering, Natasha smiled.  It was the sort of smile that made grown men shit their pants.

The bar was a pretty classy one, but then they weren’t going into hiding or anything; they just wanted somewhere more private than the middle of the street.  The bartender waved to Melinda and already knew what she wanted.  Sharon declined anything, but Natasha bought a cheap beer and sipped while the three of them put their heads together in one of the booths.  It reminded her of her earlier S.H.I.E.L.D. days, when hiding wasn’t always the prerogative and she had some time to cultivate friendships among her new coworkers. 

A younger Natasha Romanoff had never expected to become close to Melinda May, but become close they had.  They didn’t speak to one another as often after Bahrain (when Melinda refused to look anyone in the eye for months, and even then she never seemed to be completely present) apart from the occasional phone call.  Melinda had, however, been one of the few people that Natasha tried to actively get into contact with after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell.  She hadn’t breathed a sigh of relief until she received a coded message from Agent May assuring her that she was alright.

The trauma from Bahrain was still there.  It had always been there.  But there was a little more of the old Melinda shining through, too.

“Obviously you can’t stay near me,” Melinda pointed out.  “He’ll just plan around it.  We have the advantage if he doesn’t know you’re involved.  Should you even be talking to me right now?”

“We didn’t think he’d be making a move just yet,” Sharon said.  “Even if he is watching right now, he’ll just think we’re only visiting you.  We just have to make it obvious that we’re leaving, and then if everything goes according to plan he’ll think we’ve moved on.”

“He probably won’t buy that until I appear in another Avengers mission,” Natasha admitted reluctantly.  “I don’t know what he’d think of you though, Sharon.”

Sharon shrugged.  “I was never that well-known at S.H.I.E.L.D.  Odds are he doesn’t know who I am, but if he assumes that Natasha’s still watching, then he’ll assume that I’ve stuck around as well.  So it’ll be like one giant game of chicken— we wait for him to make a move and then pounce, or he decides whether he should target us directly or if he should attack Melinda to draw us out.  This sounds fun.”

“Yeah, it’ll be a riot,” Natasha muttered.  “I have a couple ideas, though.”

* * *

 

Sharon sat at an umbrella-shaded table, nursing a margarita and speaking with one of the other patrons of the seaside bar.  Natasha and Melinda paced alongside the waves, Natasha wiggling her toes whenever they paused so that Melinda could pick up a shell.  Neither one of them were ones for conversation (at least, not around each other), so Natasha was content with the silence for now.  It was nice to be out and about, in spite of the fact that it was on a mission to stop a psychopath from killing or capturing one of her closest friends.

“You and Andrew seem to be doing better,” she commented.

Melinda didn’t appear startled by the question.

“Epiphanies happen when you survive a fight against Inhumans bent on destroying life as we know it,” she commented, tossing one of her shells back into the sea.  “Look, Nat.  You know I don’t appreciate small talk.  So don’t give it to me.  Tell me what’s really going on with you.”

Natasha was someone who always had the right words.  Depending on the role she was playing, she always knew what to say to anyone in any situation.  Except that her role right now was Natasha Romanoff, close friend and mentee to Melinda May, and that role had always been a little harder to adapt to than the rest.  She opened and closed her mouth several times, doing an impression of the fish that were no doubt swimming somewhere in the water next to them. 

“I know you don’t like talking about it—“

Melinda didn’t miss a beat.  “Having kids?”

Natasha’s mouth closed, forming a thin line.  Looking at Melinda suddenly became more difficult.

“Neither do you,” Melinda noted.

“They’re not something I’ve ever seriously considered,” Natasha said quickly.  “But I— it’s just— have you ever wanted something that you knew was impossible?  And then, one day, you realized that maybe it wasn’t such a far-off thing, but you would have to become something you’re not to get it?  And I thought maybe _that’s_ who I really was, but I’m not.”

Natasha looked Melinda in the eye, this time.

“I’m not,” she repeated.

Melinda shrugged.  “All I got out of your philosophical mumbo-jumbo was that you had to make a call, and you probably made the right one.”

Natasha quirked her mouth into a wry smile.  “You always did suck at pep talks.”

The other woman snorted.  “I leave those to Phil.  Who do you think actually gets anything done?  Let’s head back up, see if we can’t convince the bartender to give us margaritas on the house.”

* * *

 

In the end, they decided to stage a dramatic exit anyway.  There was no way that Grant Ward _wouldn’t_ know who Natasha was, but he’d be confused by Sharon.  They went to the Louis Armstrong airport and laughed loudly and hugged Melinda goodbye, and then they took a plane to Chicago.  Melinda was going to be taking a series of buses up to the city over the course of the next few days, and she’d be wearing a transmitter the entire time.  If Ward made a move and was unaware that they have a way of tracking Melinda, then their job would be ridiculously easy.  If he made a move and disabled the tracking device, then they’d still have her last known location.

“What’s so important about this woman?” Tony asked the next time Natasha called.

“She’s a friend,” Natasha answered honestly, and then hung up.

She called Clint next, sitting in the middle of O’Hare International Airport and munching on a bunch of fries from McDonald’s.  Sharon left to use the restroom, leaving Natasha to her own devices.  Clint picked up on the third ring, pausing only a moment to tell Cooper something before she had his attention again.

“We’re Melinda May’s protective detail,” she explained.

“Shit,” Clint replied.  “What kind of dumbass thought it would be a good idea to target Melinda May?”

“The same kind who’s trying to rebuild Hydra, apparently.  Common sense seems to have deserted him.”

It was safer for the both of them if she didn’t tell him more than that, so she let him ramble on in her ear about Lila and Cooper and little Nathaniel, and how the kids kept pestering for Natasha’s next visit because apparently Lila had a few new drawings for her.  He talked about how he was finally finished with his remodeling projects and joked about actually using the tractor for something other than gathering dust, especially since Tony had fixed it.  He handed the phone off to Laura after a faint protest from his wife (“Geez, Clint, I know she’s your best friend but stop hogging the phone—“ “Yes ma’am”), and Natasha and Laura spoke about everything and nothing.

Natasha knew exactly what Laura wanted to bring up, but Laura was kind enough not to.

After that phone call (she might as well get them all out of the way), Natasha almost dialed a number that— no.  That ship had sailed.

Sharon had rejoined her by the time she finished her check-ins. 

“You know,” her friend said.  “Forgive me if I sound stupidly sentimental, but that’s quite a family you’ve built there.”

Natasha opened her mouth, but for once no sound came out.

Sharon gave a satisfied smile.  “Would you look at that; I’ve made the Black Widow speechless.”

Natasha managed to recover.  “Don’t flatter yourself, Carter.  There just wasn’t anything for me to say.”

(There really hadn’t been.)

Sharon smiled.  “It’s nice.  You’ve got something for yourself here, Natasha.  I get the feeling that it’s something that kind of crept up on you.  It creeps up on all of us, sometimes.”

“And you?  Who do you have?”

“Oh, please, let’s not make this about me,” Sharon groaned, but when Natasha scooted a bit closer, she didn’t protest.  They stayed like that for a few minutes, before they decided that they could at least spend their time exploring downtown Chicago. 

They toured everything from the commercialized Navy Pier to the near-silence of the Art Institute.  Chicago wasn’t like New York, but Natasha enjoyed it all the same.  It gave her time to observe Sharon a little longer, too, and she was happy to notice that Sharon already looked greatly improved over when Natasha first saw her.  Maybe it was just being around someone else for the first time, or maybe it was being around someone who cared.  Natasha wondered if Sharon had spoken with her aunt at all, recently.  She knew that Peggy Carter was important to her. 

They found a hotel to stay in a little further out in the suburbs, where things were still expensive— just a little less so.  Natasha stayed awake while Sharon slept, listening to the other woman’s breathing for a few minutes before she went to the window.  Melinda was somewhere in Missouri right now, barreling towards St. Louis, and would be heading up through Illinois soon.  Natasha knew that sleeping was in her best interests, but sleeping had always been more of a chore for her than anything else. 

She left to go on a walk, locking the door behind her and moving noiselessly down the hotel hall, down the stairs and out into the night.  There were crickets chirping in the darkness, keeping Natasha company as she patrolled the hotel, restless, unable to stop herself from keeping an eye out.  She was well aware that she and Sharon hadn’t exactly been hiding.  In fact, if she played her cards right—

Snap.

Natasha ducked and rolled into the shadows by a few trees, watching carefully.  Sure enough, three thugs made their way into view, all of whom looked clumsy and confused.  Amateurs.  The fourth figure, however, moved with confidence and a deadly grace that she recognized. 

“Come on out, Black Widow,” he said.  “Unless you want this hotel to go boom.  It’s a pretty nice hotel.”

“Oh, no arguments there,” Natasha admitted, straightening up and raising her hands into the air.  She didn’t fight when they searched her, removing her knives and her handgun.  Grant Ward stared at her with a look on his face that was more curious than anything else, but if anyone knew that looks were deceiving, it was Natasha Romanoff.  She kept her face just as passive as he was keeping his; it was easy, however, to sense the undercurrent of rage from him. 

He was under the impression that hurting her or Sharon would be able to hurt Melinda.  Hmm.

“Something I can help you boys with?” she drawled.

Ward nodded at one of his thugs.  The blow caught Natasha on the side of her head, blackening her vision and making her head go fuzzy, but she managed to stay conscious while they bound up her hands and feet and gagged her.  They were trying for humiliation; no doubt they wanted to send Melinda video of what had happened to her.  Natasha faked being unconscious; they were less likely to hit her again if she did.

She couldn’t afford to overdo it; they knew her reputation.  So she pretended to stir a bit, forcing herself not to tense up at another expected blow to the head.  They couldn’t have used chloroform, oh no.  That was too sophisticated for Grant Ward.  Not that Natasha was all that fond of chloroform, but blows to the head had a much higher risk of brain injuries.  Brain injuries were a problem when interrogating prisoners.

Ward, as it turned out, had no intention of interrogating her.

To her disappointment, he didn’t take her back to Hydra’s new home base.  Instead, it was a makeshift Hydra facility in the middle of suburbia (wasn’t this just a regular horror story?).  Ward started in on traditional torture techniques— removal of her fingernails to start, and then her toenails.  Natasha didn’t make a sound through it, but Ward was videotaping every moment.  Melinda knew better than to worry about her, but Natasha could still picture her— with fists clenched at her sides, her mouth drawn in a tight line. 

Every so often he burst into some kind of convoluted speech about ideals and betrayal.  Natasha didn’t bother paying attention to those.  She did, however, pay attention when he left the room she was being kept in to speak with one of his followers.

The room was small— part of a basement, if she had to guess.  The floor was carpeted, and there was an armchair in the corner, which led her to believe that the family living here must’ve been on vacation.  There was a plastic sheet on the floor around her, with smatterings of blood from her abused hands here and there.  Even slightly delirious from the pain, Natasha could make out a few tasteful works of art— probably nothing too expensive, just décor.  Windowless, one door.  An office for someone?  The furniture had been removed.

The gag was actually helpful.  It kept her from biting through her tongue.

Natasha waited patiently.  Sooner or later, he would stop talking philosophical nonsense and start saying something worthwhile.  That, or one of his associates would. 

She lost track of time after the third day.  Ward wasn’t much good at holding a prisoner— but then, she was meant to be a statement, not actually useful.

The next time, he came in with pliers and removed the gag.

“Oh,” she said, once she was able to speak.  Her voice was raw.  “You’re one of _those._ ”

He grabbed her jaw (his hands were cold), forcing her to look up at him.  “You’re frustrating,” he explained.  “You’re not afraid.  That’s obvious.  Why would the Black Widow be afraid of me?  A little pain is nothing to a woman who was beaten for messing up as a little girl.”

Ah.  So he’d done his research.

“Are you trying the empathy route?” she asked him, her voice muffled by his hold on her jaw.  “’Cause that’s not gonna fly.”

He shrugged.  “I’m pretty sure your past is a sensitive topic for you, in spite of the fact that you posted it all over the Internet for everyone to read.  It probably hurts a little more than you like to let on.  All those terrible things you did in the name of Mother Russia… all because you were raised by a group of sickos.  You know, I think our places could’ve easily been swapped.”

That was going a little far.  Natasha laughed derisively, but said nothing.

Ward hefted the pliers, clicking them together experimentally before he tightened his grip on her in preparation.  Natasha was ready to maintain eye contact with him, but a quiet ‘pop’ made him freeze in place.  He scowled, looking above their heads.  Natasha was able to recognize the sound of a gun firing with a silencer on.  Ward put down the pliers very deliberately and slipped the gag back over her head, moving over to the door and closing it.  He stood on the hinge side of the door, gripping his sidearm in preparation.

They waited.

The door was kicked down by a furious Melinda May, who anticipated Ward’s attempt to hide and used the door’s momentum to try to slam it into him.  She tossed a sheathed knife to Natasha and then proceeded to do nothing less than brawl with Ward, who was equally pissed off and (unfortunately) had the advantage in weight.  Natasha cut herself free and tackled him from behind, rolling with him until she was able to pin him, knife at his throat.

“You think I can’t take you two?” he gasped out.

“With a gun to your head?  I doubt it,” Sharon said, coming down the basement stairs.  “This is a nice place.  The couple who lives here is going to be really confused when they find a couple of Hydra members dead in their living room.”

“Next time just come after me, you jumped-up little shit,” Melinda snarled, kicking him in the side.

Ward choked out a laugh.  “What was it?” he asked Natasha.  “Tracking implant?  I knew better than to underestimate you.  That’s why you three are going to let me go, or the next house over goes up in smoke.  That family isn’t on vacation, I’m afraid.  Their two-year-old daughter is particularly adorable.”

Natasha felt something cold in her gut, and released Ward immediately.  Melinda looked even more incensed, but Sharon’s face had gone utterly blank.  She lowered her gun and stepped to the side, looking between Natasha and Melinda while the three of them listened to Ward thundering up the stairs.  Natasha held her breath until the sound of the front door closing could be heard, and then she raced up the stairs two at a time, throwing herself out of the side door. 

“Nat, what—?” asked Sharon, but she didn’t slow down.

She raced to the house next door, breaking down the door and ignoring the scream that the mother gave.  The little girl that sat in the front room babbled at her, looking curious; Natasha picked her up and (ignoring the mother’s protests) shoved her out of the house, pushing the two along.  There wasn’t time to look for anyone else now; she heard the explosion rather than saw it, and pressed the girl down into the ground beneath her, feeling her tiny body breathing while she shielded her body with hers. 

Something— some piece of shrapnel, maybe— collided with the back of her head, and Natasha was swept away in a haze of light and heat and screaming, before she went under.

* * *

 

Natasha once killed a girl in front of her father.  He paid his debts, and then she killed him as well.

Now, she felt a little better watching the two-year-old cling to her mother, knowing that she had saved their lives, but it would never be enough.  Sharon stood next to her, sharing in her silent frustration at letting Ward get away, but satisfied in knowing that they hadn’t fallen for his false promise of sparing the woman and her child.  The two made their way to Melinda’s car and drove away before the police could show up and start questioning them, but Natasha had seen the spark of recognition in the woman’s eye when she got a better look at her.  She’d probably be getting questions about this from Steve at some point, but she decided it was worth it.

“You two can stop babysitting me,” Melinda announced abruptly from the front seat.  “I’m going to go back to S.H.I.E.L.D. in a couple days.  It’ll be safer there, plus there isn’t a single person in that base who would let Grant Ward anywhere near it.  Also, I think you’re crazy.  Thank god I never had to be S.O. to either of you.”

Natasha snickered, but the sharp look Melinda sent her told her that she wasn’t fooled.  Sharon merely nodded. 

Melinda drove them to O’Hare airport and all but kicked them out of the car.  “Call me once in a while,” she told them, her face softening somewhat, and then she was zooming away.

“She’s better,” Natasha commented, watching her leave.  “I don’t know why, but she’s better than she used to be.”

She looked over at Sharon.  In the midafternoon sunlight, her hair was glimmering, but her smile was cold.  Her hands were shaking again; Natasha reached out and grabbed them both, steadying them.  She looked her friend in the eye for several moments, waiting for her to come back to herself.  Sharon’s eyes slowly focused on hers, before she carefully removed her hands from Natasha’s grip.

“You’re coming back to headquarters with me,” she instructed in a voice that brooked no argument.

Sharon nodded.

The flight back to New York took them over Lake Michigan.  In that time, Natasha broke her usual habit of silence and held an inane conversation with Sharon that was a job pitch in disguise— training with the new Avengers team, watching Rhodey try to hide his dating attempts from the rest of them, befriending Wanda (and regaining some of the sanity that came with having another woman as a friend), working with Steve as a co-leader.  Sharon listened while staring out the window, her eyes going in and out of focus.  Natasha resolved to tell Fury that Sharon was quitting, but she knew that it had to be her friend’s decision. 

They were close to landing in JFK airport when Sharon suddenly said, “I can’t do this anymore, Natasha.”

And Natasha— speaking as someone who collapsed, unseeing, prepared to die at the hands of a man with a bow and arrow because she just needed to _stop_ — replied with, “I know.”


End file.
